


He Wears A Pair Of Silver Wings

by Tasertastic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasertastic/pseuds/Tasertastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Darcy/Steve ficlets.</p><p>Ch. 5: Steve finally meets Darcy's family and they're not what he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come when you call me, America.

**Author's Note:**

> Am trying to get back into the swing of writing, so I started off with a series of small-ish Darcy x Steve ficlets (in no particular order). This particular one is just an introspective piece, not much plot, but I hope I succeeded in getting the tone right. Hope you like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is beginning to hate the taste of his foot in his mouth

  

_*_

 

_ Come when you call me, America. _

 

*

 

“I think Tony's brought his secret stash of gas again. He's so high, Pepper's considering him a flight risk.”

 

Steve smiled into his glass, the owner of the voice causing his insides to bubble up like the glass of champagne in his hands. He took a deep breath and turned, ignoring the antics of a clearly tipsy Tony Stark holding court over a rapturous, yet slightly bewildered audience.

 

The rest of the room faded away and Steve's stomach did a little jig and flip at the vision of shimmer and midnight blue standing next to him. Even if she didn't know it, Darcy Lewis was a Grade A knockout of epic proportions, make no mistake.

 

“You look really different!” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

 

And there he was, ladies and gentlemen.

 

Captain Steven Grant Rogers in all his fumbling glory, spewing out things he'd rather not, all because a pretty dame with a mischievous smile and curves that went on for days deigned to smile at him.

 

But, in all honesty, she _did_ look different.

 

Her make-up was softer – sultry – harkening decades back and she wasn't wearing those cute, rectangular red-framed glasses she always sported; Steve couldn't count how times he'd fantasised about slowly pulling them off her face and kissing her senseless until her knees gave way. Not that he'd ever be able _tell_ her, of course. The embarrassment of it would probably kill him, where everything else couldn't.

 

He caught her raised brow and swallowed nervously at the wry look on her face.

 

“That kinda was the idea,” she replied gently. “To look different.”

 

When he couldn't find anything else to say, floundering desperately for a response, Darcy rolled her eyes.

 

“It's not exactly a jeans and sweater kind of crowd, Steve.” She wasn't exactly thrilled to explain her state of dress and neither was Steve, to be honest. He hated feeling like he was missing something important.

 

“No, I know tha- Well, I don't mean you don't look different, because you _do_ , but... What I _really_ meant- _ehh..._ ”

 

He sighed as the words refused to come out coherently, so much so that Darcy graciously took pity on him and waved his words away, gently patting his arm. It was tragically embarrassing, but Steve secretly wished she'd touch him again.

 

Or maybe even slap him for being such a fat-head.

 

“S'all right, Rogers. I know exactly what you meant.” Rewarding him with a slightly dimmed smile than before, she turned and slowly made her way back across the room.

 

Away from him.

 

Peggy'd obviously been right. So painfully, horribly right. He _still_ didn't know a bloody thing about women.

 

“There's ma Cap-Cap-Caperoo! My peeps! My ice cube from another tray!”

 

Steve raised his eyes to the ceiling wearily as an inebriated Tony Stark and his arm somehow found it's way across the back of his shoulders. The difference in height was alarmingly apparent and hilarious, if the looks they were getting from the rest of the party-goers was anything to go by. He caught Pepper wincing apologetically at him from across the room, but her on-going conversation with some big-shot investor stopped her from rescuing him.

 

“Wat'cha moping about, Cap'n? Not that that's anything new.”

 

For someone who was short and on the heavy side of tipsy, Tony Stark had one hell of a grip. Steve found that he couldn't extricate himself without using added force, and so he stood tall and glared down at the eyebrow-wiggling man. “I'm not moping, Tony.” A server passed by them and he took the opportunity to place his and Tony's glass on the tray.

 

“Liar, liar, pant's on fire.” The billionaire looked marginally put out by Steve's presumptuous actions.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Go away, Tony.”

 

“ _Go away, Tony_ ,” Stark parroted back. “Why don't you make me, Rogers.” And with that said, Tony tried to put him in a playful headlock.

 

It was futile at best, ridiculous at worst.

 

Darcy had been right. Stark was lit up brighter than the 4th of July.

 

Not in the mood to pander to his eccentric friend, Steve removed himself with little grace and took a few steps back, brushing his calloused fingers subconsciously down the lapels of the hideously expensive, form-fitting black suit that Tony had forced him to wear on pain of death and ex-communication from the fully outfitted Stark gym.

 

Steve sighed and shook his head, eyes wandering around the room to see if he could spot Darcy again. He could have sworn he'd seen her briefly talking to that young boy from Research and Development. The one that constantly mooned after her. Steve wasn't any better, but he was a hell of a lot more subtle than that kid. Or at least, he hoped was.

 

He hissed suddenly, as Tony tried to put him in another strangle-hold. “What are you; _twelve_? What is wrong with you?”

 

“Many things. And that's debatable.” Stark paused for a moment and blinked. In an instant, he'd lost the glazed drunk look and became eerily sober as he stared at Steve intently. “She's on my private balcony. No guests allowed but for some reason JARVIS likes her, so he let's her go there. I'd like her too if she'd lose that stupid iPod she's attached to.”

 

“Wh--”

 

“Lewis,” Tony interjected shortly. “Tiny, busty, peppy little thing. You know, the owner of Dr. Foster and probably a host of other scientists that rarely leave their science caves, down in Research.” He plucked another glass of champagne from a different server, downing it in one go. “And, I'm probably guessing, one of the reasons you look like someone kidnapped your puppy.”

 

Steve caught himself before he started gaping like a fish. “How did you-”

 

“I'm drunk and a little bit high, not stupid.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I'm also getting you classes on how to talk to women. You're a living, breathing Shakespearean comedy of errors, Rogers. Not even Banner during his radioactive greenness is that bad.” And with that, Stark shooed him off in Darcy's direction.

 

Sometimes, which was probably most of the time, Tony Stark frightened him.

 

It was a secret that Steve would take to his grave, but one that he could admit to himself.

 

*

 

The temperature outside on Stark's private balcony was cool, yet welcoming compared to the stuffy environment he'd left behind. Even though he could still hear the distant hum of people, they seemed to be a world away, hidden behind the thick panelled, mirrored glass.

 

Stark's balcony was larger than the average person's, Steve thought wryly, as he eyed the infinity pool to his right, the night skyline glittering like diamonds beyond it.

 

The only thing that interested him, however, was the young lady curled up like a languid cat on the comfy, cream sun-lounge centred beneath an enormous, ruby red umbrella. She didn't seem to notice him right away, so he took the opportunity to watch her for a moment, unimpeded and uninterrupted.

 

Darcy was fiddling with something on her phone as her curled hair billowed across her face in steady rhythm with the gentle cadence of the evening summer breeze.

 

“Stop being such a creeper, Mr. America,” she pronounced flatly, without looking up.

 

Steve smiled sheepishly and shuffled towards her, rubbing the back of his neck as he gingerly sat down at the end of the plush sun-lounge she was reclining on. The soft cushion sank beneath his weight, and he could see why Darcy was often tempted to come here.

 

They spent the next few minutes in silence, with only the gentle draft of wind swirling between them.

 

It was peaceful.

 

And that was it.

 

That was when Steve realised something. Something more than a little crucial.

 

The only time he could be peaceful, the only time his brain would stop bombarding him with thoughts about the past, thoughts about the _whys_ and the _if onlys_ , was when he was with Darcy. _Next_ to Darcy. Her presence alone seemed to block out almost everything; the good, the bad, the horrifying - it was all silenced when he was with her.

 

She made him laugh, made him not take himself so seriously, as he was generally inclined to do. She was just... Darcy. Even though she sometimes made him tongue-tied, made him hope that the ground would swallow him up whenever he said something silly, she was still just _Darcy_. And Darcy Lewis was a great girl. Woman. A woman who deserved more than the awkward fumblings of a socially inept man from the '40s. If Bucky were around, he'd have cuffed Steve 'round the head a long time ago and told him to just _buck up, be a man, and ask her the fuck out_.

 

Steve drew a deep breath, steeled himself, and bucked the fuck up. “Darcy?”

 

“Hn?” She looked up from the soft glow of her phone, her attention focused solely on him. _Finally._ It was exhilarating and frightening. But mostly exhilarating.

 

“What I meant to say before was... You look really beautiful tonight.” The surprise in her eyes propelled him onwards and he couldn't help but add, “You always do, but you look especially good tonight. Although I have to admit, I kind of miss seeing you in your glasses...”

 

Steve had to stop himself from pounding the air with his fist as a soft blush danced its way across her cheeks.

 

Darcy looked around everywhere except at him, clearly avoiding eye contact. For all the bravado she presented to the world, in this moment Steve could see that she wasn't as half as confident about herself as she pretended to be. Which was crazy because she was so very, _very_ pretty. And he certainly wouldn't mind showing her exactly how much.

 

“If anyone else had said that, I wouldn't have believed them,” she murmured shakily.

 

He swallowed the thought down nervously. “Does that mean you believe me?”

 

She smiled and nodded. The soft expression on her face as she looked at him made his heart race like it was about to jump out of his chest.

 

She was looking at him, seeing _him_ , and it made Steve want to pull her towards him, into his arms, and never let go. There was no room for error in his life when it came to Darcy. Not anymore. It was time to stop beating around the bush and putting his foot in his mouth every time she was around.

 

Steve was really beginning to hate the taste of his own foot in his mouth.

 

“I really like you and... Will you, maybe sometime, go out with me? Sometime soon?” He added hopefully.

 

Steve waited with bated breath as her eyes grew rounder with surprise. But before he could even blink, she'd unfurled herself and shimmied up towards his end of the lounge. His patience was finally rewarded when she looked into his eyes and smiled widely, as bright and as brilliant as the sun dawning on a new day, before pressing a gentle yet burning kiss on his already slightly stubbled jaw.

 

“I thought you'd never ask, soldier.”

 

Darcy grinned, and everything was right with the world.

 

Steve grinned back.

 

Finally, he thought. He'd done something right. _Finally_.

 

 

*

 

 

 


	2. A Little Bird Told Me (i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Lewis had a secret. She hated Captain America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, but still here (ohhh yeah!)

*

 

 

_ A Little Bird Told Me (i). _

 

*

 

Darcy Lewis had a secret.

 

She hated Captain America.

 

And not in the _boo-hoo he's so handsome and strong, he could never be mine,_ kind of way.

 

She genuinely hated him.

 

Darcy could remember exactly when it all began, and why. She'd been nine years old and Maisy Ann Walsh, _the_ _bitch_ , had somehow managed to steal the mint condition Captain America trading cards she'd bought to the monthly Show and Tell, right from under her nose.

 

It was the only token of her father's, along with a few pieces of her mother's jewellery, that Darcy had left. That, and some hazy memories cobbled together from whatever photographs her grandparents kept.

 

To say that she was devastated would have been a gross understatement.

 

Darcy was crushed.

 

She knew instantly from the smug looks and indifferent shrugs of that lying little thief that the cards had been stolen and not just ' _misplaced_ ', as their teacher gently assured her. She may have been young, but she wasn't an idiot and within her heart of hearts, Darcy had known that she would never see those cards again. The very same cards that her father would proudly show her on rainy days, his arms wrapped around her as she nestled against his chest, listening to the pitter patter of raindrops against the window pane.

 

She remembered crying on the bright yellow bus that day. She cried all the way home, and even remembered being shoved roughly on the shoulder as Maisy Ann Walsh – _the_ _bitch_ – made her way off the bus, into her perfect white picket fence house where her perfect family and perfect ugly dog kept her company.

 

Of course, she'd told her grandparents what happened as soon as she got home.

 

That had been an epic mistake.

 

Her grandmother had simply shrugged and went back to watching her crappy soap opera, whilst her grandfather made her sit down in the dimly lit kitchen as he went on a two hour rant of his days in the army and how Captain America was _full of shit, a good for nothing bully, a complete fraud, a washed up show-girl and don't you dare cry about his crappy little cards Darcy; I told your father a million times not to fill your head with such lies and garbage._

 

In the span of two hours, with her grandfather's words still ringing in her ears, the silver-lined image her father had painted of Captain America crumbled to ash, leaving nothing but a bitter after-taste and a burning hole in her empty coat pocket.

 

So then, it was safe to say, that Darcy was more than a little bit stunned when she was introduced to a newly un-thawed Captain America by her boss and some-time friend, Dr. Jane Foster.

 

His real name is Steve Rogers and his fashion sense was worse than an old man's.

 

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and reluctantly held out his hand in greeting.

 

And everything her grandfather had told her about this man came rushing back, like a tidal wave threatening to devour her whole. All the hate, all the tears she shed over those stupid, worthless cards and tainted memories of her father _because he lied_ made Darcy seethe with pent-up resentment.

 

She clenched her fists and ignored the proffered hand pointedly, staring at it like it was covered in radioactive slime. She watched, spitefully pleased, as he grew flustered and his face slowly turned a dusty shade of pink. He threw a confused glance at Jane, mumbled a hasty good-bye and practically flew out the door.

 

Jane was horrified.

 

“Darcy!”

 

“What?” She said, rolling her eyes. “He didn't even want to shake my hand in the first place.”

 

“Still, that wasn't very nice.” The disappointed look in Jane's eyes quelled any victory Darcy had felt from before. If even Jane was disappointed with her lack of social decorum, then she really must have crossed the line during her introduction to Captain America.

 

Pushing away the niggling guilt clawing at the back of her mind, Darcy put in her earbuds, turned up the volume and tried to drown it out.

 

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, part two. Darcy realises her preconceptions have been grossly mistaken. And apologises. Poor Steve doesn't know which way is up :(


	3. A Little Bird Told Me (ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Lewis had a secret (ii)

_*_

 

_ A Little Bird Told Me (ii). _

 

_***** _

 

“–ive her some time?”

 

“I just don't know what I've done. She's so friendly with everyone else, you know? Even Tony. And he can be trying on a _good_ day.”

 

“I don't know her too well but from what I've heard around the Tower, Darcy's a decent kid. A little on the strange side, but decent nonetheless. Are you sure you aren't mistaken?”

 

“No,” the deep voice replied defeatedly. “Any time we run into each other, she always looks like she wants to step on me. I've seen that look plenty of times before; I know what it means.”

 

Darcy stood frozen, mouth agape and fist raised, in front of the jarred door that led to _Bruce's_ _Happy Cave_ , as Stark liked to call it. It was essentially a room the scientist escaped to when life in the Tower got a little bit too crazy.

 

Which was pretty much every other week.

 

There was a sigh before the voice - _Captain America,_ her brain supplied - added, “She's funny, though. _Really_ funny. Especially from the bits and pieces I've heard. And did you know that she cooks?” There was an excitement there that surprised Darcy. She didn't realise that her cooking skills could invite such overt pleasure from a man she barely even said hello to.

 

Then again, he'd probably been living off tinned rations during his army days in Europe, before he was de-thawed, so the idea of real food where there was no shortage of the good stuff, must really excite the guy.

 

“She cooks,” he continued, “when she thinks someone needs a distraction. The other day she made Natasha _blinis_ and before that she made Thor these delicious little thunderbolt-shaped cookies when he said he missed home...” His voice trailed off and there was an added wistfulness to the tone that sent a small pang of guilt through Darcy's heart.

 

“You've tried them too?” She heard Bruce question mildly. “Those were pretty good. I saw Barton and Thor wrestle for the last one. Too bad they didn't notice Natasha sneaking away with it.”

 

“I've been meaning to ask her how she makes them but...”

 

“But you're afraid she'll bite your head off if you do?” Bruce supplied wryly.

 

“Something like that.”

 

Darcy blinked and stared down at the cheer-up present for Bruce in her hand. The boxed homemade _matcha_ cake stared up at her accusingly, judging her for every snide look she'd thrown at Captain America since being introduced to him over a month ago. Looks that apparently hadn't gone unnoticed by him and the rest of the occupants of the Tower.

 

Jane was still frowning at her.

 

For some reason, listening to him speak so freely to Bruce, he didn't sound as cruel and as horrible as her grandfather had made him out to be. He didn't sound like the typical arrogant jock or even remotely like a bully.

 

He simply sounded sad.

 

In fact, he seemed like the exact opposite of whatever her preconceptions were.

 

Maybe it was because she hadn't heard him speak this much around her. Darcy always assumed that Captain America _– Steve –_ thought he was too above her, too high and mighty to bring himself down to converse normally with anyone who wasn't in his circle of _special_ friends.

 

She'd obviously been wrong, and Darcy hated being wrong. Hated it.

 

Why would her grandfather lie to her? But if her grandfather was the one that lied, then it would mean her father had been right... That Captain America _was_ the hero she'd been brought up to believe.

 

Darcy wished, with a dull pang, that she could call her father to find out. She wished that he was still around to actually answer her silly questions, still around to tug her ponytail playfully and cuddle her as he showed her his cards and recited the many escapades of his all-time favourite hero, Captain America.

 

Gaining insight into the Captain's true persona, Darcy realised it was plain to see now exactly how Steve had been trying to engage with her from the beginning. Trying to be helpful in ways that went right over her head, whether it was by pulling things down for her from a height – she thought he'd been mocking her short stature _–_ or the time he offered his seat in the common area when there was none to be had, only to receive a clipped ' _No_ ' in response as she settled down on the floor. She thought he'd been baiting her, trying to insinuate that she didn't belong there with them.

 

Darcy wanted to kick her own ass, is what she wanted to do.

 

It was a shame she'd been just too stupid and blind to notice he didn't mean anything the way she thought it had.

 

The million dollar question was, how on earth did she go about fixing something like this? They'd gotten off on a really bad foot and she didn't know if he would even be willing to overlook her terrible behaviour towards him.

 

Darcy pondered this question as she stared at the door for a moment before coming to a decision.

 

Never one to back down, but feeling slightly off-kilter, she took a deep breath, knocked on the door and nervously slid into the room without waiting for a response.

 

The occupants of the room, which strangely reminded her of her father's study, stared at her with varying degrees of surprise.

 

Darcy stared back.

 

The silence stretched out, long and awkward, so she did the only thing she could think of.

 

She spoke.

 

“I made cake.”

 

She shuffled up to the desk Bruce was sitting behind and slid the ribboned box gently across the burnished wood. In doing so, she had to pass by Steve, who was already standing to attention as soon as she entered the room. He was staring down at the floor, hands behind his back, when Darcy turned to him. Before she could say anything, however, Steve quietly said good-bye to Bruce whilst nodding, “Miss Lewis,” in her direction.

 

He was gone before she could even draw a big enough breath to speak.

 

Bruce, seemingly oblivious, leaned forward in his chair.

 

He smiled gently, pleased, as he opened the box and peered inside. “Green-tea cake. My favourite.”

 

Darcy couldn't do anything except smile helplessly back.

 

 

*

 

 

The remainder of the week was spent gathering intel.

 

She doled out her free time watching old news reels, reading up on interviews, and basically just digging up every piece of information she could find on or about Captain America.

 

Except, she wasn't interested in him.

 

Darcy was more intrigued by the man behind the suit. She knew she'd never invade his privacy, never look at the classified SHIELD documents that were an itchy fingertip away on Stark's personal database, but she treated anything left out in the public domain as fair game.

 

And then, on a muggy Saturday morning, still clad in her sparkly Care Bear pyjamas and fuzzy panda slippers, she found an interview he'd done with _Woman_ magazine. Some kind soul had scanned and uploaded the entire thing onto their (slightly bordering on the stalker-y) blog post.

 

“... _It's not much, but I still really miss...”_

 

Darcy stilled as the words swam before her.

 

A quick glance at the publication date showed that the interview had been conducted, from what she now knew, exactly a year before he crashed his plane into the Arctic Ocean.

 

Darcy never felt more ashamed of herself.

 

*

 

With a little help from Natasha, she managed to find out that Captain America – _Steve_ – generally spent his time between the Tower, SHIELD HQ and his Brooklyn apartment. He was apparently an unofficial liaise between SHIELD and the Avengers. According to the Russian Spy, it also appeared that SHIELD still used him as an expert tactician in a few recent undercover missions, something which he'd excelled at during World War II.

 

There was no way she was turning up at his home (that would creepy) and she would never be allowed within spitting distance of SHIELD ever since she publicly kicked that one agent in the nuts for _stealing_ her iPod. She'd recognised him as part of the team of thieves from New Mexico and if there was one thing that Darcy hated more than she used to hate Captain America, it was thieves.

 

So here she was, holding the goods and making her way – _getting lost_ – towards his well-hidden office in the Tower which was apparently on a floor that she had no security clearance for.

 

Fantabulous.

 

It was a good thing she swiped Jane's key card, although it was quite strange that Stark's A.I. JARVIS hadn't blocked her passage already. She and Jane looked nothing alike, and yet when she swiped the key, she easily gained access to the floor.

 

Ten minutes later, and still with no luck, Darcy was on the verge of beating a hasty retreat. The baked desert in her hands smelled pretty good, if she did say so herself, so then why did it feel like she was carrying the weight of the One Ring to Mordor?

 

Frodo would _so_ not be amused.

 

“I give up,” she muttered to herself.

 

“If I may, Ms. Lewis,” JARVIS interjected quietly into her ear. “The Captain's office is down the hallway and to the left, in the North-East Wing.”

 

Darcy jumped, wondering how the A.I. knew who and what she was looking for. She shook her head and followed the directions.

 

Eventually, curiosity got the better of her. “So... JARVIS, dude... How _exactly_ can you tell when someone's making their way 'round the Tower without deadly intent? I mean, for all you know I could be on my way to poison somebody.”

 

“Your biochemistry matches Sir's database and your escapades with baked goods are quite well known throughout the Tower, Ms. Lewis.” If she didn't know any better, she would think that the computer's voice sounded mildly amused.

 

Huh.

 

After another minute of walking, the hallway finally opened out into a small, artfully decorated lobby with an office island situated in the middle. At the centre sat a young man in a sharply cut grey suit.

 

He looked up at her arrival, somewhat annoyed, and pulled off the futuristic-looking head set.

 

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

 

“Uh...”

 

“Ms. Lewis has a free-standing appointment with the Captain, Mr. Smith.” JARVIS announced, unfazed.

 

The man, Mr. Smith, frowned and glanced at his computer screen. A few seconds later, he found whatever it was he was looking for and waved her in the direction of the three equally spaced doors behind him. “First door to the left,” he said, still eyeing her and her package suspiciously.

 

The look made her feel like she was part of a really bad spy movie.

 

Nodding, Darcy secretly sent a thumbs-up to JARVIS behind her back and hastily made for the door. She knocked on it before she could change her mind.

 

The muffled, “ _Come in_ ,” sounded weary and unamused.

 

Unable to back out at this juncture, Darcy forced herself to open the door and step in.

 

Silence greeted her.

 

And then, there was a flurry of movement as the Captain stood, flustered, from behind his desk and stared her with a bemused expression.

 

“Miss. Lewis?”

 

Kicking her brain in gear, Darcy rushed forward. “Hi,” she greeted, hesitantly.

 

“Can I help you?” He was eyeing the box in her hand in a way that, for some reason, looked mildly longing.

 

“I'm an idiot,” she blurted out, then winced.

 

Foot meet mouth, she thought, you will now be married together for the rest of your sorry, eternal lives.

 

The Captain's brow furrowed as he tilted his head. “Okay..?”

 

Mentally kicking herself, Darcy placed the box on his desk.

 

“I made this. For you. It's not much, but...” She trailed off helplessly, trying to get a read on his thoughts.

 

However, the man was really good at hiding whatever it was that he was feeling in that moment. Although, she thought she caught a flash of genuine surprise and delight in his sky-blue eyes for a second.

 

His very pretty sky-blue eyes.

 

Before he could speak, Darcy murmured, “Enjoy,” and turned to high-tail it out of there. She could hear the rustling of the box being opened just as she reached the door. Her hand was on the handle when his deep voice commanded, “Wait.”

 

It was only the underlying desperation in his intonation that stopped her from running away like a little coward.

 

Steeling herself, she turned back and was summarily flummoxed.

 

There was a helpless air about him as he stared down at the contents of the box. An air that told her he didn't know what to say or do, so Darcy took pity on him. “A little bird said somewhere that it's your favourite. It _is_ your favourite, isn't it?”

 

A smile, so small that she had to squint to see it, tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It is.”

 

“I thought you might have been joking, you know, hamming it up on the whole patriotic shtick.”

 

At her words, he startled and finally looked at her, away from the still steaming, cinnamon-flavoured apple pie. The corners of his eyes crinkled, amused. “No, unfortunately I wasn't joking. Although it does seem a little too contrived to be true, doesn't it?”

 

She snorted. “Yeah. Captain America likes apple pie, who'da thunk it?”

 

There was an awkward pause and Darcy felt herself floundering.

 

_Why was it so damn hard for her to talk to the man?_

 

Never one to be at a loss for words, she found the prospect of talking to Captain America basically rendered her brain to mush.

 

“Thank you, Miss. Lewis. It looks delicious.”

 

“You're welcome,” she replied softly.

 

Surprisingly, his features softened even more and that was it, the dam broke and the words came out fast and furious and she couldn't seem to stop them; “I'm _so_ sorry for acting like such a brat before. It's just that, Maisy – _the bitch –_ stole my dad's mint-condition Captain America trading cards and then my grandfather called you a fraud and a washed up show-girl when I cried about it, and I was _so_ angry at my dad because I thought he was lying and it turns out he wasn't and I've seriously been misjudging you all this time and I don't even _know_ you, but I had this idea that you were a jerk and a bully and then I find out that's _totally_ not true and–”

 

“–Miss. Lewis,” he interrupted, a dumbfounded and horrified expression painted across his face. “Breathe, please.” The Captain's incredulous, deer-caught-in-the-headlights reaction made Darcy wish that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

 

Maybe give her a one-way ticket to an actual Hell-mouth.

 

She snapped her jaw shut and waited for him to speak.

 

After a few moments of mulling through her verbal spillage, he spoke softly, as if afraid of what she might say. “You thought I was a bully?”

 

“Yes.” She rushed on at the pained glint in his eyes, “I mean, no. My grandfather was in the army and he said some not-nice things about you. But I know that it's not true. _Now_.”

 

There it was again, that thing in his eyes. Something sad and world-weary that Darcy didn't like one bit. “Why would your grandfather say that about me?” He seemed genuinely curious, if a little defeated.

 

Darcy shrugged helplessly. “I don't really know. He's not around anymore for me to ask. Died a couple of years ago.”

 

The Captain winced. “I see. I'm sorry.”

 

“It's ok, he was old and a little bit crazy,” she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

 

The joke fell flat when he stared back at her, non-plussed.

 

She added, a bit more seriously, “I think he was relieved to go, in the end.”

 

He nodded, eyes now fixed down at her apple pie. “Still, I'm sorry for your loss.”

 

“Thanks, Captain. And, I'm sorry too... For being so rude before. I promise, I'm _really_ not like that... Most of the time.”

 

The muscle in his chiseled jaw was doing fascinating things as he debated silently with himself.

 

“Steve,” he finally said, a little forcefully. “Please, call me Steve.”

 

The request seemed so casual, so normal, that Darcy felt something inside her unclench, like an invisible burden had finally been lifted up and away from her.

 

She was uncomfortable around The Captain.

 

But Steve?

 

She found it was possible that she could be herself around someone who was just called Steve.

 

And so, she took his little peace offering and smiled at him, before holding out her hand. The way he was gazing at her and her out-stretched palm reminded her that it was the first time she'd ever genuinely smiled in his direction.

 

“Ok,” she accepted, challengingly. “But _only_ if you call me Darcy.”

 

Blinking like an owl, as if dazed by the upward curve of her lips, Steve carefully took her hand and smiled back at her. This time, it reached his eyes.

 

“It's nice to meet you, _Darcy_.”

 

His palm dwarfed hers, but it was warm, rough and calloused and it painted a bright, vivid picture of the decent and  _good_ man her that father had spoken about. A man that, if her intel was correct, didn't really have much to smile about these days.

 

But Darcy Lewis had another secret.

 

She _loved_ challenges.

 

And making Steve Rogers smile, whilst it would be an arduous challenge, was one that she was dearly anticipating.

 

 

*

 

_End._

 

_*_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That completely went off on a tangent, but I hope everyone enjoyed it! Too much exposition and not enough Steve, in my opinion :D
> 
> Just wanted to note that I'm mixing some aspects of comic book Steve with the movies, so I hope there won't be any confusion.
> 
> Woman magazine is real; it was a British publication. I can just imagine hunky Captain America's interview being nestled between the pages of perfume adverts and fashion/beauty advice. I found the Beecham's Pill advert for constipation rather amusing though! Also, according to the trivia I found, Steve's favourite food is apple pie. Oh, the irony /sarcasm.
> 
> See here for magazine: http://cargocultcraft.com/2010/09/06/wartime-reading-woman-magazine/
> 
> Just a fun FYI: Green-tea (matcha) cake is seriously delicious. I haven't found any recipe as good as the store-bought one I had during my time in Korea, but hopefully this recipe is similar. Let me know if any of you try and make it, I know I'm certainly tempted to:
> 
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/green_tea_cake_92898
> 
> Many thanks to those that have reviewed/left kudos. I seriously appreciate it and it's really encouraging to see!


	4. Someone To Watch Over Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is sick, Steve is worried.

*

 

_ Someone To Watch Over Me. _

 

*

 

When Darcy became ill, she curled up like a cat and slept.

 

She would sleep for days, trying to replenish any lost energy and trying to clear away the drowsy fog that made her head heavy and immobile.

 

The only problem was that Steve – her awesome, kind and _verily_ handsome, evil ass-kicking boyfriend – didn't really know that about her and wouldn't leave her alone.

 

He couldn't get sick anymore but he hated it when other people, especially her _,_ did. Steve also had a tendency to hover by her bedside, hands wringing, asking her continuous questions about her comfort and food and just generally refusing to leave her side in case she didn't wake up again. Like his mother.

 

It was equal parts heart-breaking and amusing to watch this big, strong man worry himself into an absolute tizzy over something so small and trivial as the flu.

 

“I'll be fine,” she croaked. Damn. Her throat was drier than Tony Stark's jokes.

 

His massive hand was resting on her forehead and it hadn't moved even once in the last twenty minutes. It was as if he thought he could burn away her illness with only the heat of his abnormally high body temperature. And how cute was that? Whatever annoyance she might have felt from his constant touching faded in the light of his Florence Nightingale selflessness and absolute adorable-ness.

 

Darcy had hit the jackpot finding love with Steve Rogers, although he'd be more inclined to say that he was the really lucky one. Again, totally adorable.

 

“I'll call Pepper and tell her that I can't make it,” he quietly decided, speaking as his calloused thumb brushed across her temple, back and forth, in a soothing rhythmic motion.

 

“Don't be dumb,” Darcy countered weakly, wriggling listlessly beneath the heavy blankets. She thought she vaguely resembled a caterpillar with the way Steve had tucked her so tightly into their bed. “You're going and that's final.”

 

“But who's going to watch over you? I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

 

The concern and slight panic swimming in his eyes warmed her.

 

“Steve, stop worrying,” she slurred, managing to roughly tug one arm out from under the blanket and curl her fingers around his hand before pulling it away from her burning, sweaty forehead. She kissed his fingers (it's not hygienic, so sue her) and smiled hazily up him.

 

“You've been organising this fundraiser for the orphanage for over two months with Pepper. So, you're going. End of.”

 

Sitting on the edge of her bed in his army dress-uniform, looking like he'd just stepped out of the 1940s, which he had, Steve still seemed to be debating with himself.

 

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Go!” she ordered. “I'll call you if I don't feel right.”

 

Finally, he hesitantly nodded before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips trailed down the small slope of her nose to peck at the slightly swollen red tip.

 

Darcy wrinkled it.

 

“Gross, dude.”

 

Steve chuckled warmly, whispering a little smugly, “Super soldier.”

 

“Super gross, you mean.”

 

He laughed, tossing his head back. “I'll be back soon, promise.” Reluctantly rising from the bed, he once more began to hover there, as if still warring with himself.

 

Darcy shooed him away. “Vamoose, goose. And don't forget to disinfect yourself,” she tried to bark, in a horrible imitation of the east-coast accent.

 

Steve grinned and saluted.

 

With another gentle caress of her cheek, he tugged at the hanging switch of the lamp beside the bed, bathing them in almost complete darkness. Darcy could barely see the outline of his broad shoulders as he made his way towards the door.

 

The drowsiness she'd been feeling finally caught up with her and so she wasn't really sure if she had been dreaming or awake when Steve softly murmured, “I love you,” before slipping out of the room.

 

*

 

The bed dipped, jostling her awake.

 

Chills that had been wracking her frame continuously for the last hour caused her to snuggle up desperately against the hulking mass of warmth that was Steve.

 

“How was it?” She mumbled sleepily, tucking her head under his chin.

 

Arms like steel wrapped around her waist, squeezing gently before they effortlessly pulled the upper half of her body up and across the broad expanse of his bare chest. Greetings Steve-chest, she thought drowsily, burrowing her nose into his neck.

 

“You're starting to burn up,” he grumbled roughly. “I should never have left.”

 

“'M fine.”

 

Darcy still wasn't at the teeth chattering phase, thank Thor. “Seriously though, how was it?” She repeated.

 

Her cheek lifted slightly as his chest puffed up and down with a weary sigh. The hand curled at her waist subconsciously pinched and massaged her side. Darcy melted into it.

 

“It was exhausting. I don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to it.”

 

“Well, you were obviously thinking of the kids at the orphanage.” She shifted, getting comfortable against his rock-hard body. The heat radiating from him was somehow enough to slightly warm her. The chills were beginning to recede.

 

“It would have been a million times better if you'd been there.”

 

Darcy grinned as he countered his gruffly spoken words with an absent kiss to the crown of her head.

 

“There's always next year,” she placated.

 

“Fine, but if you get sick again I'm _not_ going. Tony had to scramble my phone so I couldn't call and I think Natasha was a deadly finger-flick away from restraining me to my chair every time I so much as moved.”

 

The image of the tiny former Russian spy keeping tabs on Captain America tickled Darcy pink.

 

“It's not funny,” he sulked. “She's really scary when she wants to be.”

 

Clearing her throat under the pretence of illness, Darcy simply hugged him. “Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

 

The unceremonious appellation caused him to twitch. Even after all this time, her charming boyfriend still didn't believe that he was hot, hot, _hot_.

 

It only added to the hotness, in Darcy's opinion.

 

“Well, if it's any consolation, I missed you too.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he countered wryly, pulling the covers over their heads. It felt like they were in their own tortoise shell, all cozy and warm as if they were the only two people left in the world.

 

“Sure I did,” Darcy replied mildly as she poked his sturdy abs. “How could I not miss you watching over me? I am a Queen Stevie-boy, _a Queeeen_ – old Liz's got nothin' on me – and I deserve to be waited on hand and foot by my extremely sexy, yet incredibly humble, super-hero boyfriend. If he so happened to be naked whist tending to me, then that would just be an added bonus,” she purred suggestively. It was, unfortunately, more like a wheeze in her current state.

 

Steve snorted in disbelief.  “You're ridiculous,” he eventually sputtered fondly.

 

And with that, a comfortable silence fell over them and when she shifted again, Steve's hand slipped under her t-shirt and stroked her spine like he was stroking a cat.

 

“Go to sleep, Darce. We'll talk more about your delusions of grandeur in the morning.” Even as he spoke, so warmly and affectionately, his arms tried to pull her closer, almost like he was afraid that she would turn to dust and disappear into the wind if he didn't.

 

Darcy took the meaning behind that gesture and pressed herself even closer, even though her breasts were smashed painfully against his side. She couldn't seem to get close enough.

 

Still, she smiled contentedly.

 

If the person watching over her, making sure she was safe and loved, was Steve, then she had nothing to complain about. She'd be ridiculous, silly and everything else under the sun if only to make him see that she wasn't going anywhere without him.  That she was here and she was real.

 

 

*

 

 _End_.

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the cheese-tastic taste of it all. 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments and amazing response to the previous two-shot. I wanted to write something cute before I delve into another one, which will be an angst-fest.


	5. Some Enchanted Evening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally meets Darcy's family and they're not what he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have fibbed a little; this one-shot isn't the angst-fest I was talking about. Sorrynotsorry :)

 

_**Warning:** Smutty scene towards the end._

 

 

*

 

_ Some Enchanted Evening. _

 

*

 

They weren't talking.

 

The occasional sounds of blaring car horns, curses bellowing out at absent-minded pedestrians, or the noise of screeching drills being pounded into the pavement and the chattering buzz of excited tourists drifted through the cracked window of the car.

 

Steve navigated the nondescript SHIELD issued black SUV with grace through the New York traffic, weaving in and out just like a professional cabbie would, but Darcy couldn't bring herself to even joke about it.

 

She had plenty of one-liners poised on the tip of her tongue about quitting his day job, but the humorous words appeared to die a painful death on her lips before she could even open her mouth.

 

The car ride to her parents' home in East Hampton was the longest she'd ever been silent in their entire two year – and still counting, thank you very much – relationship.

 

And it concerned him.

 

Darcy couldn't help but notice the worried glances Steve kept shooting at her from the corner of his eyes, behind his aviator sunglasses. As the minutes ticked by and they eventually made their way out of the city proper, his posture grew even more fraught with tension and the muscle in his squared jaw danced arrhythmically, as if he was trying to hold himself back from speaking.

 

He didn't last long.

 

Unable to take the heavy silence anymore, Steve finally broke it. “What is it?” He demanded tightly.

 

She sighed wearily and twisted her head to look out of the window. The scenery blurred by in an amalgamation of green and grey, the car going too fast for her to make much out.

 

“Darcy?”

 

“Nothing.” She looked back at him and found him glancing at her, perplexed and somewhat hesitant.

 

“Are you worried I'll embarrass you in front of your family?” He asked, a little hurt.

 

Horrified that he would even _think_ that, Darcy gaped at him aghast. “Of course not! You could never embarrass me.”

 

Steve's shoulders seemed to droop slightly, the relief evident, as she lifted his thick, broad hand away from the steering wheel and entwined their fingers.

 

His hand was so large next to hers.

 

“Then what's wrong?” He absently brought their hands to his lips, kissing her fingertips even as he concentrated on the road ahead.

 

Darcy couldn't help but grin at the unconscious, loving gesture. She slumped slightly and raised her eyes to the roof of the car. “I'm not worried about _you_ embarrassing me. I'm more worried about my family embarrassing _me_ in front of you.”

 

“Is that why you've always avoided introducing me to them?”

 

She didn't think he would notice. But he did.

 

Darcy never wanted Steve to think that he was the reason she didn't want to introduce him to her family. Because he wasn't. He was wonderful and sweet and completely different from the washed-up losers she used to date prior to meeting him.

 

She was just scared that if she introduced him to her family, he wouldn't look at her the same way he always did. That dazed, goofy, _I-could-sing-and-dance-in-the-rain_ , Frank Sinatra kind of look that made him _her_ Steve and not the nation's hero and flawless golden-boy Captain.

 

“They're a big part of the reason,” Darcy mumbled eventually, tightening her grip on his unbreakable hand. “My family is... More than a little dysfunctional. They're kinda crazy,” she confided, heart racing.

 

She didn't want to bring Steve into that world.

 

A world where her mother, strict and unyielding, would point out every physical flaw and insecurity she ever had, every un-lady like gesture she made, and pick at it until she was left raw and bleeding and ready to tear her hair out.

 

Or a world where her father, distant and cold, barely spared her a second glance other than to mock her various choices of education and eventual career path which was simply _such a disappointment, Darcy._

 

Spending more than the requisite amount of time with her family was not conducive to her mental well-being. It never had been and it never would.

 

Her family was one of the main reasons that, in a fit of rebellion, Darcy had chosen to go to Culver, chosen to intern in New Mexico and eventually chosen not to go back home in over three years.

 

A phone-call was more than adequate enough to suit her needs. And even that sometimes played havoc with her nerves.

 

“Well then, it's a good thing I'm dating you and not your family,” Steve soothed, mostly amused.

 

Darcy was certain, beyond a doubt, that he'd change his tune after only an hour in her mother's company.

 

*

 

The clink of silver cutlery was the only sound that echoed throughout the massive dining room.

 

Sitting at the large, modern but ridiculously round table was awkward and difficult for all the occupants present.

 

Poor Steve sat rigid beside her in his crisp, white button-up shirt and black dress pants.

 

His army background was more than evident with just one look at the prominent creases down the front of his legs. He'd obviously ironed the shit out of his pants before dinner. The cut of his figure in formal clothes was such an impressive sight that she'd even caught her mother casting a few appreciative glances in Steve's direction when she thought no one was looking. Go figure.

 

It wasn't enough to detract away from the awkward silence, however.

 

Why her mother had decided host dinner in the formal dining room with just the four of them present was beyond her. Eyeing the new interior, she also wondered what she'd had been thinking to redecorate the entire house.

 

Objectively, it looked like it had mostly been done as an excuse to show-off. Keeping up with the Joneses and all that bull.

 

Darcy had to admit though, the re-furbished house looked absolutely gorgeous.

 

Something that Steve, too, had noticed.

 

She remembered watching as, entering the home, Steve had taken note of his surroundings surreptitiously, yet with an eagle-eye, as if shocked to find out that Darcy could have grown up in such a luxurious setting.

 

She supposed that somewhere along the line in their somewhat spontaneous relationship, she had forgotten to mention that her family came from old money; her great-grandfather having been an oil tycoon and extremely savvy with his investments. The East Hampton home was one of many Lewis properties scattered around the country and her parents only used it as a vacation home.

 

In retrospect, she most likely didn't tell Steve about her upbringing out of an early, ingrained habit. When people tended to find out about her and her family background and the lifestyle she'd led, they became depressingly different in the way they tended to behave around her.

 

It was either that, or they would try to extort something out of her for their own personal gain.

 

Her unhappy childhood was one of the many reasons why she didn't want to bring Steve here. She didn't want to go back to being the shy, reclusive little only-child with no friends and just her books and imagination to keep her company during the long summer vacations.

 

Darcy hated that girl with a burning passion.

 

She'd worked long and hard to leave that girl behind.

 

“So, Steven,” her mother finally said, breaking the tenuous silence. “What _exactly_ is it that you do?” The condescending raised brow made Darcy want to strangle her.

 

Never let it be said that Grace Annabelle Lewis would miss an opportunity to belittle the people around her.

 

If even more possible, Steve sat up straighter and placed his cutlery down before he spoke. He looked so handsome and dashing in that moment, with his slightly slicked back hair and formal attire that Darcy may have swooned a little.

 

The manners displayed appeared to mollify her mother somewhat, as Grace deigned to lower her brow and wait for a response.

 

“As a matter of confidentiality I can't speak much about it but I work in homeland security, Ma'am.”

 

“Law enforcement division, I take it?” Her father paused from eating and muttered, suspiciously eyeing Steve's clearly cut arms straining against the fabric of his shirt.

 

Steve's lips twitched, as if amused. “Something like that, sir.”

 

It was pretty funny, Darcy thought, that her boyfriend _was_ in law enforcement – just not the kind her father was thinking of.

 

“And your family?” Her mother probed, even more obnoxiously.

 

Humour instantly gone, Darcy interjected before Steve could answer. “Love what you've done with the place, mother.” The flat, dry tone of her voice didn't go unnoticed.

 

There was an uncomfortable pause before Grace pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You know that it's not polite to speak when _not_ spoken to, Darcy.”

 

Darcy flinched.

 

“First and foremost, I am not a child. Secondly, you know damn well that it's also not polite to ask personal questions to someone you've just met,” she finally snapped, finding her voice.

 

Ignoring her, Grace turned to her husband and declared, “I knew we should have sent her to that finishing school. Didn't I tell you this would happen, Jonathan? She's turned out to be absolutely wild living in that jungle of a city. Even Beth's children have better manners and they live in _Los_ _Angeles_.” Her mother's voice had dropped to a scandalised whisper as she made a moue of disgust.

 

“Darcy, you know better than to speak to your mother that way,” her father admonished robotically, returning to his food. The greying hair at his temples made him look infinitely older than the last time she'd seen him.

 

 _I barely recognise my own family_ , she thought sadly. “Well I think–”

 

“–Unfortunately, my parents passed away when I was younger. I was raised in an orphanage in New York,” Steve quickly interrupted her, just as she opened her mouth to tell her parents where they could shove their finishing schools and double-standard manners.

 

Steve's eyes flicked towards her and she caught the minute shake of his head. Darcy forced herself to swallow her words, as if swallowing poison.

 

“I see,” Grace replied frostily. The idea that Steve was an orphan, with no family connections, apparently didn't sit too well with her perfection-seeking mother. “My condolences.”

 

“Thank you, ma'am.” If Steve had noticed the insincerity behind her mother's words, he didn't comment on it, didn't even so much as flinch.

 

And Darcy fell in love with him just that little bit more.

 

“Well,” her father proclaimed suddenly.  “I must say that it's good to finally see Darcy settle down with someone that's relatively normal. We always thought she'd end up with one of those pierced hooligans you see jumping around on stage these days.”

 

Darcy groaned and put her head in her hands.

 

 

*

 

Later that evening, after the torturous, lengthy dinner and after-dinner refreshments were concluded, Darcy managed to smuggle Steve into her bedroom via the enormous bathroom connecting their sleeping quarters.

 

Her mother would probably have a fit if she found out, but Darcy couldn't give a flying fuck.

 

“Hi,” she greeted nervously, but quickly smiled with relief as Steve opened his arms and wordlessly enveloped her in his warmth.

 

Darcy virtually melted into him.

 

He held her, tighter than he normally would, and simply allowed the warmth of his embrace to comfort her.

 

“Hey there, beautiful lady.” Steve finally drew back and smiled at her, the glow of the dim lighting casting a dearth of fascinating shadows over his sharp nose and angled jaw.

 

Still swaying in his embrace as she looked up at him, Darcy absently noted that he was already clad in his nightwear consisting of a white wife-beater and grey sweats, whereas she still had on the hideous formal dinner dress her mother had insisted she wear.

 

“How 'bout we plan an evacuation under the cover of darkness, Captain?” She teased, only half serious.

 

Steve grinned. “At ease, soldier. I'm not about to give your mother another reason to dislike me.”

 

As he joked, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

 

Darcy smiled back weakly.

 

“I'm sorry for how she behaved, Steve. I just don't know why she's like that. It's been this way ever since I was little.”

 

Steve stared down at her, tracing the corner of her lips gently with the calloused pad of his thumb. “You are not sum of your parents, Darcy. And I think their mistakes, without them realising it, have turned you into the amazing person you are today.”

 

Unsure how to receive the compliment, she blushed. “Smooth, Rogers, very smooth. I give you a nine out of ten.”

 

“Learnt from the best,” he quipped pointedly, quirking his brow at her.

 

The large hands massaging the dip in her spine above her ass was wreaking all kinds of havoc on her senses.

 

“So, instead of an evacuation,” she whispered, pressing closer, “is there any chance you might be willing to rebel against my Stepford-esque parents by having hot, sweaty sex in their house before we high-tail it out of here tomorrow?”

 

At her words Steve smirked, if a little shyly. “I might.”

 

“We can even lock the door if you're worried about getting caught,” she sing-songed enticingly.

 

Darcy let out a muffled squeak and laughed giddily as he wordlessly lifted her up at the waist and walked her over to the entrance of the room. He pressed her back up against the closed door and looked searingly up at her, baring his teeth rakishly with a glint of anticipation dancing merrily in his eyes.

 

“Sweetheart, I don't need a lock. I've got you for that.”

 

A small thrill travelled up her spine at the sight of Steve holding her up so effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing more than a piece of paper blowing in the wind.

 

Without preamble, without another word, Darcy wrapped her legs around his hips and smashed her their lips together. She moaned as they collided, tongues twisting and senses overloading with the taste and masculine smell of Steve encompassing her.

 

Darcy didn't even have to strain herself as she reached down and tugged at his sweats to pull out his already hard and throbbing length, the tip almost red and glistening.

 

Another perk of having a boyfriend with super-human strength and stamina – he was always ready to go in a matter of seconds.

 

“Shit,” he mumbled roughly against her mouth, tongue flicking against hers and their teeth clacking together as her hand worked slowly and teasingly up and down his length. He pulled his head back slightly to speak coherently. “I didn't bring any condoms.”

 

 _Fuck_ , Darcy pouted to herself. She hadn't thought to bring any either. The stress of meeting her parents had taken away any other pleasurable thoughts she might have been otherwise occupied with.

 

Still...

 

“I'm on the pill, it should be fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” In their two years together, they'd never had sex without a condom before.

 

Even as she mulled over the decision, her hand kept a steady pace over his cock, the other stroking the erogenous zone at the back of his neck.

 

Steve clenched his teeth and his adam's apple bounced up and down as he tried to swallow and control himself against the onslaught of naughty things her hand was doing to nether regions. Darcy gasped as his thick fingers dug mercilessly into the soft flesh of her ass, massaging and kneading it and making her legs turn to jelly even as he held her up.

 

Her panties were already drenched and so she didn't need much time to think. “I'm sure. Very sure.”

 

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Darcy rucked the skirt of the hideous dress up around her waist and used her free hand to pull her panties to the side. Steve bit his lip and braced one hand against the door behind her as she guided his cock inside her.

 

Darcy let out tiny moan as he slowly but surely pushed into her, stretching her out inch by glorious inch, almost to the point of hovering between pleasure and pain.

 

As soon as he was fully seated inside her, and she had adjusted to the intrusion of his hard cock, he took a moment to peck her softly on the lips before beginning to set a slow but hard pace by slamming up roughly into her and retreating slowly back out.

 

The door behind her shook and rattled with each delicious, deep thrust and the sensation of his uncovered dick pulling in and out of her left Darcy breathless.

 

With each slow pull, she could feel the tiny bumps and ridges of veins in his cock sensuously rubbing her on the inside before he roughly thrust back into her, the tip of his cock managing to bump against her g-spot.

 

Time seemed to slip away and Darcy had no idea how long Steve had been ploughing her with this slow and intense pace.

 

Somehow, during it all, they'd never once lost eye-contact.

 

Without conscious thought, her eyes still focused on Steve's, Darcy brought her fingers down to her clit and began rubbing it in small circles, slow and hard, keeping in time with his hard thrusts.

 

Before she knew it, black spots began swimming in front of her eyes. She slammed them shut as her climax approached and engulfed her without warning, rocking through her body hard and fast and leaving her almost spent.

 

Darcy shuddered and dug the nails of her free hand helplessly into the back of Steve's neck as she rode out her climax, biting her lip to stop herself from making any sound.

 

With her inner walls still fluttering and clenching around his dick, Steve groaned and began to fuck her harder and faster through her never-ending orgasm. She watched, fascinated, as the muscles in his arms and chest rippled under the effort.

 

The erratic sounds of their harsh breathing and bodies joining loudly together finally made him groan low and deep as he came a few moments later, spilling out inside her.

 

His arms trembled from the effort of holding her up through his release and he gave a few more uncoordinated thrusts.

 

Darcy whimpered against his parted, panting mouth as after a long moment of stillness he eventually, teasingly, pulled his still slightly hard dick out of her.

 

Her eyelashes fluttered at the new and foreign tingling sensation of his seed seeping out of her as she lowered her legs from his waist, their arms now entwined.

 

Steve braced his forehead against hers, noses barely bumping together due her almost-steamed up glasses.

 

He smiled.

 

He smiled in the _I-could-sing-and-dance-in-the-rain_ , Frank Sinatra kind of way that Darcy dearly, dearly loved.

 

“Wow,” he breathed.

 

The hazy, goofy look of satisfaction on his face made Darcy laugh freely and she reached up and kissed him until he was even more breathless and ready for round two.

 

Wow, indeed.

 

If they were late to breakfast the next morning, and Darcy's mother had mercilessly scolded her, she barely remembered any of it.

 

All she remembered was that look of complete and utter contentment beaming out at her from Steve's smile.

 

*

 

A few months later, Darcy nervously sat on the toilet and stared down at the pink line that was glaring up at her accusingly.

 

Well.

 

Note to self; unprotected sex with a cell-enhanced super soldier – even if she _had_ been on the pill and no matter how good it felt – had not been one of the brighter ideas she'd had in life.

 

Darcy would have to remember not to let it happen again or the world would soon be filled with numerous little mini-Steves running around in it.

 

Still, she reasoned, there were _worse_ things that could happen to her besides having the love of her life's child.

 

*

 

_ End. _

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* Well, that was certainly different. I've always wanted to write smut like this but never had the courage to. I hope it wasn't too awful.
> 
>  
> 
> Link to see what Darcy's parents' house looked like (in my mind):
> 
>  
> 
> http://changoandco.com/sort/landscape-architecture/#prettyPhoto[pp_gal]/0/
> 
>  
> 
> Also, to imagine Steve in formal wear, please refer to pictures of Chris Evans in Loss of a Teardrop Diamond. He looked so handsome in it.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, much love and appreciation for the feedback/kudos. Happy that people are enjoying it!


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